


As Cold Comes, So Will Warmth

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5928928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants to help him recover.  He just wants to die.  But somewhere in the middle, they find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Cold Comes, So Will Warmth

**** “Severus? Where are—oh god, what’s wrong?!”

 

Hermione sprinted through the doorway of her massive library, skidding down onto the carpet on her knees as she grabbed the moaning heap of black cloth. She blanched as she felt his body shaking underneath her fingers, his mouth open in a silent scream as strange, guttural grunts of pain issued intermittently from his throat. It was almost as though he were choking on something, but a quick check confirmed his lungs were clear. His fingers were gnarled into frozen claws and his skin was freezing cold. Hermione summoned an afghan from the nearby couch and threw it over his shoulders, casting a Warming Charm for good measure. 

 

It took over ten minutes of rubbing his back gently and whispering comforting things to him before his dark eyes returned from wherever far off place they'd been, and his body went completely limp. 

 

Hermione brushed his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and cast a Cushioning Charm beneath his body. Severus breathed evenly, his body showing no remaining sign of tension other than the slight crease between his eyebrows. 

 

“How could I have not noticed he was this badly off?” Hermione murmured sadly, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

* * *

 

_...Several months earlier... _

 

Severus had been in St. Mungo’s for over a month before he'd regained consciousness. But instead of being happy about having been saved from certain death by Hermione, he'd been in a rage, refusing treatment and demanding to be discharged, regardless of the consequences. The Mediwitches had to concede to his wishes. His life had been saved, and now he wished to forgo treatment. 

 

It was, in the end, his choice. 

 

Hermione had begged him to stay until the worst of the spell damage had been treated, but Severus had turned his rage on her instead. 

 

“If you hadn't done us both the disservice of trying to save my worthless hide, we'd both be better off!  I hope you're happy, being responsible for this!”

 

He'd gestured violently at his crooked, half-broken body, still wracked with tremors and fading scars. 

 

Hermione had reared back from his hospital bed, trying to still the anger blossoming in her chest, and failed spectacularly. 

 

“Oh, so I’m the villain here?! I _saved_ _your life_ , Severus Snape!” she spat back angrily as she tried to intimidate him by trying to look down her nose at him in the bed, “but I had only gone back for your _corpse_ , so that you could be honored posthumously for all you'd done!   _You're_ the one who didn't have the decency to die before I got there!”

 

“Oh, is that so?!”  Somehow, he was towering over her, his nose like a scythe held over her face, “You're just like the rest of them. You all love your heroes as long as they're dead, don't you?  That way, you can tell the stories that suit you without having to worry about the ugly reality of it getting in the way!”

 

“I did everything I could to save your goddamn life! You could at least pretend to be grateful!” Hermione hollered back, and she was about to say something, anything to cut him more deeply than he'd already wounded her pride, but she found that she was suddenly silent, her words dying as they reached her lips. 

 

Snape grinned back at her ghoulishly with a broken smile as he opened his mouth to say something that was most certainly going to be cruel, but his expression soured almost immediately when he too found that his voice had also been silenced. 

 

“ _ Now _ , then!” A mediwitch had appeared out of nowhere and stood with an irritated expression on the other side of the hospital bed; the obvious source of the Silencing spell, “This patient needs rest, not a shouting match. I'd appreciate it if you could leave, Miss.”

 

Hermione’s eyes flashed for a moment before she flushed with embarrassment and mouthed an apology to the witch. 

 

“I will escort you out to the front lobby,” the mediwitch said curtly, “then I shall give you back your voice.”

 

Hermione nodded silently and turned to leave. She chanced a glance backwards and saw Snape sitting crookedly in his hospital bed, his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed as he stared balefully at her.

 

_ Damnable Know-it-all _ , he mouthed silently, moving his mouth slowly so that she would realize what it was he was trying to say.

 

She stuck out her tongue in reply before she slammed the door behind her.

 

Hermione knew it was childish, but she couldn’t help herself. His terrible behavior made her want to scream.  Or throw things.  Or do both at the same time, preferably  _ at _ him.

 

And yet, the next morning, she’d received a Floo call from St. Mungo’s.

 

“He’s leaving at ten o’clock this morning,” was all the bored-looking medi-witch said as she smacked her gum through the green flames, “You’re listed as next-of-kin and have paid off his bill, so we’re notifying you that everything has been paid in full. You can expect a hard copy of all charges by owl around mid-afternoon.”

 

Hermione scoffed and turned on her wireless as the floo connection closed, trying to ignore the nagging guilt in her gut.  She knew that he had no wand or money to speak of.  His wand had likely burned in the fire that had broken out in the Shrieking Shack a few days after she’d Apparated him to St. Mungo’s.  She supposed that he probably blamed her for that as well.  His Gringotts account had been indefinitely suspended due to his Death Eater allegiances, and it didn’t seem to matter what Harry had said about the Pensieve memories and Severus had only narrowly escaped being sent straight to Azkaban.  There was a lot of rebuilding and amends to be made, and that required funds.  Taking it from of those who were seen as being largely responsible for the entire war in the first place was a very popular initiative. 

 

Hermione wasn’t sure how much Harry truly believed what he’d said about the surly ex-Headmaster.  After all, he’d never even attempted to visit when Snape had been in the hospital.  Something told Hermione that he’d been smart not to do so.  

 

“So I guess for once, he’s smarter at something than I am,” she muttered absently to Crookshanks, who was in the middle of winning a three hour game of  _ I’m Ignoring You _ . “Argh, why can’t I leave well enough alone?!”

 

This earned her a scornful look from the orange half-Kneazle.  

 

“—are surrounding the entrance to St. Mungo’s as it has become known that Severus Snape, infamous Death Eater and right-hand-man to both Albus Dumbledore and He-Who...well...Voldemort—”

 

Hermione twisted the knob on the wireless until the sound cut out, leaving her in silence.  Her hands were shaking.  

 

“No! I’m not going to feel bad for him!” she argued to herself, “He deserves all of that and more, the absolute  _ bastard _ !”

 

Hermione hadn’t told anyone that he was being discharged, but it was rather probable that someone found out and blabbed to the press.  Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she imagined Rita Skeeter standing around, angling to be the first to take a bite out of the broken man as he shambled out of the front doors.

 

Before she knew what she was doing, she’d grabbed her traveling cloak and opened the floo connection to St. Mungo’s, requesting clearance to travel through.

* * *

 

It was almost as bad as she’d imagined.  Severus was walking towards the front doors of the wizarding hospital, which were adorned with frosted glass.  Hermione could see the darkened shapes of a crowd standing behind those doors, though the Silencing Charms kept the noise from the other side of the doors from leaking through.

 

“Professor!” she shouted, running after him. 

 

She nearly stopped when she heard him groan with frustration, but then pushed herself onward.  She wasn’t one to give up when someone was in trouble, after all.  Even if he didn’t want her help.

 

“I already told you—” he started irritably as she threw her hand out and clasped her hand on his shoulder.

 

Immediately, his mouth snapped shut and he went rigid.

 

“You,” she gasped, winded from her sprint, “are coming back with me until you can get on your feet.”

 

“What do you think you’re-!”

 

“ _ Shut up _ , and _ listen to me _ !  _ Right _ .  _ Now _ !” Hermione wasn’t sure who was more surprised—herself or the dark wizard who was staring at her with something like alarm behind his dark, tired eyes. “You do not have a wand, or money to procure another.  You do not have a place to stay.  All of your allies are either gone or suspicious of you.  It is your right to refuse medical care, even against all sense of reason, but I will be damned to Tartarus itself if you do not come with me until you are at least well enough to survive on your own!”

 

“And if I refuse?”  He looked her up and down, her wild, frizzy hedge of hair, her wild angry eyes and her rumpled robes, as though sizing her up for a fistfight.

 

Hermione pulled out her wand and thrust it under his nose.

 

“It wasn’t a request.” 

 

“I...see…”

 

“Do not make me use this,” Hermione said, her voice growing weary in her anger.  She didn’t want to hurt him, and she knew that she was about as good at keeping a poker face as a hippogriff.  

 

“Fine!” he exclaimed suddenly, shrugging and throwing her hand off his shoulder.

 

Hermione stared at him a moment, her brain still processing the fact that her tactic had actually worked.

 

“U–um...ok, so...we can floo out this way,” Hermione said, her voice growing flustered, “I was able to get permission from the staff due your special circumstances.”

 

“I’m not an invalid!” he grumbled, taking a couple of jerky, uneven steps in front of Hermione.

 

“No,” Hermione said, “you’re not.  You’re a complete  _ mess _ .  And  _ that _ out there?” She pointed at the front doors. “ _ That _ is a trainwreck waiting to happen.”

 

To her complete surprise, a raspy rattle emanated from the tall, crooked frame of the broken man before her.  It took her a moment to realize that he was actually  _ chuckling _ .

 

The mediwitches gave them both odd looks as they reached the floo.  Hermione could still hear that rattling laugh even after she’d called out her residence and stepped into the flames.

* * *

 

Severus Snape, it turned out, wasn’t a terrible houseguest.  

 

With the Galleons awarded to her with her Order of Merlin, Hermione had purchased a two-story home in the countryside.  She could just floo or Apparate wherever she needed to go, so it didn’t have to be too close to London. The rolling fields and open land meant that whatever sun that shone filtered through the large windows, giving it a perpetually cheery atmosphere.

 

But the best part was the library.  It was  _ huge _ .  Hermione had added onto it by popping out a small side room, and there was a picture window with a cushion and pillow that was perfect for reading in and taking her afternoon tea.  When she was home, Hermione liked spending most of her day in the library because that was where everything was.  Her desk, her wireless, even a few Muggle items, such as a television with a VCR built into it, though she didn’t get cable.

 

There were two rooms on the second floor and a smaller one that shared a wall with the library, tucked down the hallway from the kitchen. There was a large vine that grew around the window in that room, which kept it dark and cool for most of the year.  Hermione was not very surprised when Snape chose it.

 

It took him a week to come out of his room while she was around.  Hermione placed meals on a tray outside his door only to find them mysteriously washed and on the drying rack the next time she’d pass by the kitchen sink.  The only real indication she had that he was even there was when she heard the shower in the downstairs bathroom or saw the line of light from under the closed bathroom door.  Sometimes there were quiet moans or shuffling noises, but for the most part, he was quiet and kept to himself.  Hermione almost felt as though she were living with a ghost. 

 

_ Well _ , she thought to herself,  _ at least I’m living with a well-mannered ghost unlike Peeves or Moaning Myrtle _ . 

 

The weather had been getting progressively colder as autumn drew to a close, and winter began to reach its chilly grasp in a manner that tried to freeze her breath in midair.  Hermione worked long hours, her brain far too immersed in her work and her desire to avoid thinking about the holidays to really think much about her standoffish house guest. After Ron had unceremoniously dumped her the day that Rita Skeeter had posted an obviously fake story about Hermione’s apparently many dalliances, he’d gone on to play the field, showing up to various events with a different stunning woman on his arm every time. Truth be told, Hermione didn’t mind staying out of the limelight (which, by contrast, Ron loved), but it stung her to see him obviously choosing women who looked exactly like Hermione’s personal version of what she wished she too could look like.  

Hermione enjoyed the quiet of her home in sharp contrast to the chaos of the Burrow, but she often missed it when the holidays rolled around.  It wasn’t that she was not welcome, but there was an awkwardness that made her feel like an outsider, and in the end, she always left early.  Her parents were still warm and dry off in Australia, none the wiser that they’d ever had a daughter at all.  

 

But she hadn’t neglected to notice that the house was suddenly far cleaner than it had ever been before.  The dishes were always done, as if by magic.  Things seemed more orderly and clean.  And though she’d never seen him in the library, she found that the books had been alphabetized and placed in different sections by genre.  At first, she’d wanted to say something.  After all, he hadn’t been in much of a state to do anything when he’d been discharged from the hospital, but then she thought better of it.  After all, if he wanted to help out around the house, that was his choice.  It was only when she came home one day to find that a hearty chicken and vegetable soup had been made along with a fresh loaf of bread that was still warm to the touch, that she realized exactly what he was willing to do.

 

_ You can use a warming charm if they’re too cold _ , the note said in his spidery scrawl.  It wasn’t signed. 

 

It was delicious.

 

That evening, she came downstairs after getting showered and ready for bed in an attempt to try and catch him.  She was so quiet that she succeeded, and she nearly snickered when he nearly jumped out of the chair by the fire in the library at the sound of her clearing her throat behind him.

 

“I just wanted to thank you,” she started awkwardly, realizing that he was fully dressed while she was standing in flannel pajamas, “for the soup and the bread, I mean.  It was really good...I mean...delicious…so…”

 

He glanced up from his book, his face a mask of indifference. It was obvious that he’d recovered from his earlier shock.

 

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate the things you’ve been doing around here and I hope you have a good evening, er...professor…” Hermione said, feeling her cheeks warm up with embarrassment at being so utterly incapable of civilized conversation.

 

She turned and took a step when he said something quietly enough that she couldn’t quite make out the words.

 

“What was that?” she asked, trying to sound genial instead of accusatory.  It came out like a squeak, and she flushed even darker at the annoying sound of her voice.

 

“I said,” he repeated, “that you can call me by my first name if you wish.  After all, you did save my life, and I am no longer a professor.”

 

Hermione’s voice caught in her throat.  The idea of calling him... _ that _ ...was daunting.  She did, after all, call Molly and Arthur by their first names, and they were older than Snape.  But somehow, it still felt wrong.

 

“ _ Please _ ,” he said softly, and her heart felt as though it had stopped in her chest.

 

Severus Snape did not say  _ please _ —especially not to know-it-all Gryffindor swots. She doubted he’d said it once in all the time she’d known him.

 

“W..well...then...” she stammered, trying to think of something to say, “Call me Hermione, then.  It’s only fair, after all.  And don’t feel like you need to skulk about the house in the shadows! You’re a guest, not a prisoner!”

 

She realized her voice was getting shrill and bossy, so she stopped, staring at the fuzzy socks on her feet even as she felt his gaze upon her.

 

“I see,” he said, then, and she heard the sound of him turning the page of his book.

 

“S...Severus?” she ventured, looking up at him with a half-wince as she nearly expected him to tell her it had all been a cruel joke, and he was going to make her life miserable for daring to call him by such a casual term.

 

“Yes?” he said mildly, without looking up.

 

“Good night, then,” she said, managing to keep her voice even.

 

“Good night, Hermione,” he replied, his voice sounding more velvety than it had in a long time.

 

It gave her a strange lurching hitch in her belly to hear him say her name like that.  Almost as though he were saying something incredibly suggestive.  But, as she lingered in the doorway watching him read by the firelight, he did not offer anything further, and she ended up making her way upstairs feeling rather foolish.

* * *

 

From that time forward, they’d developed an odd, easy camaraderie.  Hermione would wake up to fresh oatmeal and sliced fruit with bacon, the smell waking her from her sleep before her alarm.  She would find him standing crookedly in the kitchen, his long, black hair tied back in a makeshift ponytail as he sliced fruit carefully and handed her a bag lunch before she headed off to work.  Hermione wasn’t sure if she should feel like a child being sent off to school, but the bagged lunches never felt like that, and, in fact, he’d become rather inventive, making all manner of things that Hermione was certain he must have used magic to make.

 

And, day by day, she became more used to hearing her name on his lips.  And, day by day, she became more used to saying his name until she no longer froze up or hesitated before calling him by his given name.  He was no longer “professor” or “Snape” or “hey you.”  He was just Severus, the helpful, if often rather quiet, houseguest who’d come to recuperate at her big, empty home in the country.

 

It was a month into their new living arrangements when he finally told her that he’d borrowed her potions equipment from her school trunk and had been brewing things to help with his condition in the room. They were sitting in the library, Hermione curled up in the picture window while he sat rigidly on the tall, hard chair near the fireplace as usual.

 

“I have debated with myself about telling you,” he said, his voice growing somewhat higher, a tone that Hermione had begun to realize meant that he was feeling somewhat sheepish, “but I have decided that you need to know, even if you decide that I have betrayed your trust and wish to send me out.”

 

Hermione looked at him for a moment before she burst out laughing.

 

“As if I’d throw you out for using my old school stuff!” she exclaimed, “It’s not as though I’m using it anyway!  If you’d like, why don’t I give you some money and you can go get some fresher ingredients than whatever dried out gunk has been mucking about my school trunk!  While you’re at it, since you’re the one who likes to cook, why don’t I give you enough to pick up the groceries as well.  You can use the floo since you don’t–”

 

Her hands flew to her mouth as she remembered.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Severus!” she exclaimed, “I forgot that you don’t have a wand! I am so, so sorry! I shall take you to Ollivander’s at once–I–”

 

“Hermione,” he said her name, and she fell silent.  

 

Only Severus had the ability to say one word and mean ten things at once, a fact that endlessly fascinated her.

 

“But...I…”

 

“Hermione, I could have asked you at any point, but I have not,” he said, looking at her steadily, as though daring her to contest his point. “I had hoped that by now, I would be more capable than I am, and while I have enough energy to putter around the house and make a few meals, I do not feel comfortable risking walking down a crowded street by myself at this time. I may...collapse, and I cannot risk that.”

 

“Is it that really that bad?  Why don’t you let the healers at St. Mungo’s help?” Hermione asked, hoping he didn’t take it the wrong way.

 

His eyes narrowed slightly for a moment but when he finally spoke, it was in an exasperated sigh.  “The problem is that I don’t know if they can even help me.”

 

“What do you mean?” Hermione’s curiosity was piqued.

 

“The Dark Mark...well...it has faded almost completely, but it appears that some residual spellwork is still present, which has had a number of nasty effects on my body.” He didn’t elaborate.  “It also doesn’t help that Nagini’s venom was rather potent, and it often drains my stamina to speak for a long period of time.”

 

“I’m...sorry,” Hermione hugged herself and pulled her knees up to her chest, “that sounds...awful. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.  If you want, though, could you write down a list of things that you want or need? I would be happy to get them for you, you know.  Anything to help you with your recovery.”

 

“Oh?  _ Anything _ ?” Severus raised an eyebrow, and Hermione felt her chest grow tight.  Was he implying something with that tone of voice?  She couldn’t be sure if she was simply reading too much into it, but a growing part of her was desperately hoping that it was true.

 

“Well, it’s just...Christmas is coming in a week or so, and...I’d be very happy if we could spend it here; just have a quiet holiday.  If I can get you the things you need, it will make me feel like I’m not just spending my days slaving away, alone and forgotten at some backwater Ministry job.”

 

“Nonsense!” Severus stood quickly and Hermione could hear the joints in his knees popping loudly as he did so, “I’ve read the Prophet...between the lines, as one must do in order to understand anything, and I know that the only reason that Gringotts has increased its interest rates for accounts for the first time in a century is due to the new goblin legislation that you drafted that legally gives goblins the right to be chosen by a wand!”

 

Hermione blushed deeply at the compliment, twisting her fingers in her other hand.  Even though she’d been at odds with him for so long, and perhaps precisely for that very reason, hearing praise from him filled her with such a sense of joy and accomplishment that Hermione was nearly quivering.  She was rather glad that she was not standing up or she’d have had to worry about her legs giving out on her.

 

Severus was somehow next to her when she looked up again, and she nearly jumped.  He was looking down his nose at her, but this time, his face was relaxed and his eyes were not cold or cruel the way they’d been for so many years.

 

“Hermione,” he said softly, his voice almost a purr, “It would be my pleasure to spend the holidays with you, if you wish it as well.  I shall begin work on the list immediately.”

 

With that, he turned and strode from the room. He was walking more evenly now, but there was an odd hitch in his gait that suggested that something had not healed properly in one leg.  Hermione hoped that the potion he was working on would treat it, but she still couldn’t tell.  The scars had mostly faded to silver and pink marks where she could see his skin, which wasn’t much, since he spent most of the day covered head to toe in black cloth.

 

But Hermione hadn’t forgotten her earlier embarrassment. 

 

She knew what she needed to do.

* * *

 

“Ok, you can open your eyes now.”

 

“And why, again, did you feel the need to  _ blindfold _ me, Hermione?” Severus was bewildered, but he rubbed his eyes and opened them as she’d asked.  Immediately, his eyes went wide.

 

“Hello Severus,” Ollivander said kindly, handing over a box, “I’m pretty certain this one will fit you, but you will still need to try it out.”

 

Severus opened the box and pulled out the black wand.  It was slightly different than his other wand, but Hermione had trouble telling them apart. 

 

Moving the wand in a very similar motion, Severus exclaimed, Expecto Patronum!” 

 

A thin mist erupted from the tip of the wand, but that was all.

 

“Curious,” Ollivander said, “Well, then, let’s try another.”

 

They went through about fifty wands, each pulled from Ollivander’s carpetbag, before Severus found himself casting a  _ Lumos Maxima _ that nearly blinded everyone in the room.  The wand was such a dark brown it was nearly black, its grip straight and smooth with a tiny spiral groove up its length ending in a corkscrew of wood.  The length was slightly longer than before, but not by much.

 

“Ah, unicorn core,” Ollivander said with an enigmatic smile. “Your last wand, if I’m not mistaken, was dragon.”

 

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked.

 

“Unicorn core wands are very difficult to turn towards evil tasks,” Ollivander said sagely, “It means, dear girl, that our Severus values the very things that many died for in this past terrible war.”

 

Hermione looked at Severus expectantly, but he merely stared at the new designs on his wand, his fingers tracing the groove that twisted around its length.

 

Hermione paid Ollivander and thanked him for making a special trip.

 

“Nothing is too much for someone to whom I owe my life,” he said with a kindly smile before he called out his destination and disappeared  into the green flame of the floo.

 

“Happy Christmas, Severus,” Hermione said, turning around with a wrapped wand-cleaning kit. “I meant to wrap your wand, too, but I had to settle for blindfolding you.”

 

She approached him and set the package down on the table in front of him, smiling shyly.  For some reason, now that Ollivander was gone, she was all too aware how very alone the two of them were.

 

“Hermione,” he breathed, his eyes still on his wand.  And then, before she knew what was happening, he'd thrown his arms around her tightly, which, though it was slightly awkward due to the fact that he was still seated, and she was standing up, Hermione could feel her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. After a long moment, where she was wondering if she should reciprocate or not, she tentatively placed her arms around him as well. Instantly, it seemed, his muscles seemed to relax under her touch and he let out an odd, muffled noise into her side as she slid her hands down his back. 

 

It was only after she heard him try to hide a long sniff with a cough that she guessed what he was doing. 

 

“Are….you crying?”  She asked hesitantly. 

 

“It's...nothing...just...don't…look…at me...” He croaked flatly, after taking a few, stuttering breaths. 

 

Hermione squeezed him tightly, refusing to let go. She rubbed his back gently, feeling the vague shape of ridges and divots under the fabric as he first protested feebly before simply giving into the sudden rush of emotion that had gripped him so fiercely. 

 

Even when her calves began to ache from standing for so long, Hermione still held herself in place, shifting so that the side of his head was pressed against her chest, her arms encircling him as he shook with grief. She made comforting noises and stroked his head with her other hand as he fell apart in her arms.

 

Oddly enough, it was somehow easy for her to understand how such an angry, bitter, guarded man could break down like this. Severus had been through two wars, lost many of the people who had been dear to him, and yet, he'd never really been given an outlet for any of it. From what she'd been able to piece together after Voldemort had finally been vanquished, Severus didn't have many people to confide in, and the wake of the fact that the Wizarding World seemed to have no concept of therapy, it didn't take her long to realize that many of these things had been weighing on his heart for well over two decades. 

 

Eventually, he seemed to simply sag against her, the hitch of his labored breaths no longer echoing in the cool air of the library. She wasn’t worried, though. His back rose and fell with each deep breath, but they were blessedly free of the sorrow that had filled them before.

 

“Severus?” she ventured quietly after the dead weight of his body against her began to go from discomfort to actual pain, wincing as the sound of her voice seemed to carry as though she’d been shouting.

 

He didn’t reply, and as she gently maneuvered him back against the chair, she realized that he was fast asleep, his new wand still held tightly in his hand.

 

Hermione summoned a blanket from the couch across the room and pulled it up to his chin, dimming the lights in the room until the glow from the fire was the brightest source of light in the room.  But still, he looked uncomfortable, his neck cricked at an odd angle.

 

“This will never do,” Hermione muttered, conjuring up a stretcher and levitating him onto it.  She was thankful that the doorway was wide enough to fit him through without bumping anything.  When she reached his room, she was pleasantly surprised to find the door unlocked and ventured inside.  It was the first time she’d entered the room since before he’d come to stay.  Not much was different other than her old bronze caulderon and assorted potion-making items set up on the desk near the window.  After all, he hadn’t brought much more than the clothes on his back.  She did note with a small smile that there was a thick book on the bedside table, a bookmark wedged slightly more than halfway through.

 

After transferring him to the bed as gently as she could, she tucked the blankets up to his chin again.  His face looked so relaxed when he was asleep, it was almost like looking at another person entirely.  And, even though she was fairly certain that she’d be feeling the strain in her legs the next morning, she was not unhappy about having comforted him in his time of need.

 

“Happy Christmas, Severus.  Sleep well,” she whispered softly, holding her hair back with one hand as she impulsively bent down and pecked him on the cheek, her cheeks glowing a rosy red even though the room was rather cold and dark.

 

For some reason, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

 

But as she tried to pull away, she found his long, pale fingers grasping the hem of her sleeve.

 

“Please.” he whispered, his half-lidded eyes glinting in the half-light coming from the hallway. “Don’t go.”

 

Hermione felt her heart dip down to her toes and her eyes went wide, but she didn’t pull free of his grasp.

 

“Are you... _ sure _ ?” she said, her voice almost a squeak.

 

“Stay?” his whispered plea was her undoing.

 

She slipped in next to him fully clothed, her mind still wondering what the hell she was doing, and then he was inches away, his heat radiating off of his body in waves.

 

“Hello,” she said softly.

 

“Thank you, Hermione.” His voice was faint as he closed his eyes again, the tension draining from his face.

 

Hermione didn’t fall asleep right away. She studied his sleeping face as her eyes adjusted to the dark.  The harsh line of light that fell across the middle of the room irritated her and she pointed her wand at it, closing it gently enough not to wake Severus.  His arms were curled up against his chest, one hand slightly splayed in the space between them.  Hermione found herself drawn to it and at last, she covered it with her own, wrapping her fingers over the side of his hand gently.  A small happy noise flew from his lips as she kept her hand upon his, and within moments, she’d begun to drift off as well, a small smile spread across her face.

* * *

 

After that night, the two became inseparable while Hermione was home from work.  They snuggled together under a blanket while reading, their bodies relishing the heat it provided.  They prepared meals and washed up together.  Hermione even taught him a few muggle card games, though Severus quickly became better than she was at a few of them.  She also helped him to research the potion he was working on perfecting, picking up fresh ingredients on her way home from work along with the groceries.  

 

She was very glad that Severus was good at making lists or she was certain she’d have forgotten more than half of the stuff he’d put down.  It was also then that she started to see him going through episodes where his muscles would grow taut and he’d convulse or shiver uncontrollably as though a sudden fever had taken him from nowhere.  The most terrifying episode had been the afternoon she’d found him in the library in the midst of an attack, and had felt utterly powerless to do anything other than rub his back and lie with him until it was finally over.  What was even more worrying, was the fact that they seemed to be happening more regularly as time went on.  Hermione cared for him the best she could, but she began to grow terrified that one day, her attentions would not be enough to bring him back.

* * *

 

“It’s ready,” he said one Saturday at breakfast.  

 

It hadn’t been a very good breakfast.  For one, he’d been too weak to make his customary famous pancakes, bacon and egg breakfast because there had been two episodes the day before; one in the afternoon and another one that evening in the library.  She could still see a slight tremor in his left hand, though she pretended she didn’t.  Secondly, Hermione wasn’t that great of a cook.  She’d never taken an interest in it, and while she was perfectly able to boil water and bake the occasional birthday cake, she knew that the eggs were overdone and the bacon was so crispy that it was more char than meat.

 

“Please, let me help you, Severus,” Hermione said, grasping his hand from the other side of the table and squeezing it gently, “I promise, I won’t be a useless dunderhead.”

 

The corners of his lips twitched upward, an expression that she was learning was his version of a smile.

 

“That is the least of my worries, Hermione,” he replied, placing his other hand over hers.

 

“Well, then, what’s the plan?” Hermione tried to put on a brave face, but her smile wavered as she remembered the look on his face, his lips frozen in a silent scream.

 

“The potion must be administered in two parts,” Severus said seriously, “First, as we’ve discussed earlier, there’s the oral dosage, which is to be taken three times a day for a two day period.  No less, no more.”

 

Hermione nodded, her eyes fiercely attentive even though she knew this information already.

 

“The second part, well, it will require your...utmost care,” he said, squeezing her hand and meeting her eyes with his steady gaze, “You must massage the salve into the affected skin...In other words, my  _ entire _ body, for the first part to reach full potency.”

 

Hermione flushed as her mind immediately began to imagine him without his robes.  Part of her wasn’t sure if she should be afraid of the scars that were sure to be under the black cloth he wore regularly, or if she was really just balking at the thought of seeing Severus Snape naked as the day he was born.

 

Another, growing part of her mind wasn’t sure she’d mind that part at all.

 

Hermione sent an owl to Kingsley, letting him know that she had a “family emergency” to attend to and would likely not be in for the next week.  Then, they got down to it.  First, Severus took the oral part of the potion.  Hermione was amazed that he could keep a straight face while he was chugging it down.  It smelled absolutely revolting, but he didn’t even pinch his nose.  Next, he slowly stripped down to a pair of faded underwear that looked as though it had been spell-patched many times, and Hermione made a mental note to find out his size and buy him more, no matter how much he protested.  Finally, he stepped out of the underwear and folded them neatly on top of the pile of robes, leaving his new wand at the very top.

 

Hermione tried not to stare, but it was rather difficult indeed.

 

The scars were silver and pink and angry red, defying logic as they traversed the map of his body.  Some were ridged and thick, while others were barely there at all, catching in the light and shadow of the room.

 

“I know,” he said, softly, his voice so still and devoid of emotion that her heart twisted with sadness, “I’m—”

 

“— _ healing _ ,” Hermione said firmly.

 

He looked up, his eyes confused. 

 

“What?”

 

“You’re  _ healing _ , Severus,” Hermione repeated.  “Every day, you get just a little stronger, especially after this treatment, and that...that’s  _ beautiful _ .”

 

She could see the flush rising on his neck before it reached his cheeks, and she tried not to follow his hands as they instinctively dipped below his waist and tried to play stand-ins for his modesty.  

 

“I’m...sorry if you...s-saw,” he stammered, looking away.

 

“It’s fine, Severus,” she said, growing flustered, “It...seems...er...adequate?”

 

“ _ Adequate _ isn’t exactly what one wishes to hear whilst standing around in the nude,” Severus replied, arching his eyebrow wickedly at her as though sending over an innuendo with his expression alone before embarrassment overcame him and his eyes darted back to the floor.

 

Hermione couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

 

“I get the  _ point _ ,” she said impishly.

 

“I thought that was  _ my _ line,” Severus replied, smirking.

 

“Oh lie down, you, before I demonstrate how skilled I am at  _ taking _ a point...over and over again!” Hermione said, grinning wickedly.

 

Severus opened his mouth as though to say something reply, but thought better of it and did as Hermione said.  

 

They’d set up a raised table covered with a linen cloth for the treatment, as they were both unsure as to whether or not the salve would wash off of sheets or soak into the mattress on a normal bed.  They’d set everything up in the master bedroom as it was larger than the others and there was a bathroom with a shower and tub that was built into the room.

 

As Hermione grabbed the container of salve, she realized that this was the first time she’d had a naked man in her bedroom.  

 

She tried desperately not to think about that as she began massaging the concoction into his feet.

 

She failed marvelously.

 

She worked her way up his calf and knee, spreading more salve around his thigh until she’d reached his hip, all the while trying not to look at the place he was keeping covered with his hands.

 

At this, she also failed marvelously.

 

“Are you just looking or are you going to buy?” Severus quipped, his eyes glassy as though he had a fever.  Hermione wondered if this was a side effect of the potion.

 

“I—!” Hermione stared down at the salve and imagined that her face must be actually glowing with embarrassment at having been caught. “Better start the other side!”

 

She literally ran around to the other side and started on his toes. A small smile worked at her lips when he let out a small groan of pleasure as she worked some tightness out of his quadricep, but she ran into the same problem as before.  She finally reached his other hip and she balked.

 

“Hermione...I was joking before.” His voice was no longer playful. “Though there are places that I cannot reach on my own, it is perfectly fine for you to skip places that make you feel... _ uncomfortable _ .”

 

“It’s...not that…” Hermione said slowly. “It’s just...that...here I am, trying to help you recover, and all I can think about is...well,  _ inappropriate _ things. Your health needs to come first and here I am, standing around staring at your bits like a letch!”

 

“I must confess, I too am guilty of imaging... _ inappropriate _ things,” Severus said slowly, his voice deepening as his eyes met hers. “One might say that, as your former professor, it is  _ I _ who is the  _ letch _ , as you put it.”

 

“That’s not true!” Hermione replied fiercely, “It’s not as though you’ve done anything untoward.  I volunteered to do this, so please, let me help!”

 

She pressed the salve into his hands and pulled them away from where they’d been covering his groin, her eyes immediately locking on his rising erection. 

 

“I think  _ that _ counts as untoward,” he said cheekily.

 

“Not from where I’m standing,” she replied wickedly, grabbing the salve and rubbing it in with gusto.

 

There was quite a bit of moaning on his part after that.

* * *

 

“You know, I  _ rather _ liked rubbing the salve into the back of you,” Hermione remarked as she wiped her hands off on a towel. 

 

“It figures. You only like me for my bum, don’t you?” Severus quipped, wiggling aforementioned bum from side to side as he lay on the table waiting for the salve to finish absorbing into his skin.

 

Hermione wasn’t sure what Harry and Ron would find more improbable, the sight of Severus Snape completely naked on a table or the fact that they were making thinly-veiled sexual innuendos back and forth at one another.

 

“I like you for quite a lot more  _ that _ , you know,” Hermione said, growing serious, “but first thing’s first. I want to stop the tremors.  You haven’t been able to fool me.  I know they’ve gotten worse.”

 

“If the treatment works, it won’t be an issue,” Severus said his voice hardening with anxiety.

 

“Yes.   _ When _ it works.” Hermione was staring at his back, as though the scars were about to magically disappear, leaving him whole and unbroken, but no such thing happened.

* * *

 

Three treatments in and Hermione was barely able to stop herself from throwing her clothing off, climbing up on top of Severus and taking him right then and there.  Their sexual innuendos had gone from obtuse and clever to downright dirty. She was aching at the thought of pressing her lips to his, but he was still rather...goopy after the last treatment.  She did have to admit that some of his scars were looking a bit more faded than before, or was that simply her wishful thinking? Truth be told, she wasn’t staring at his scars the way she’d stared when she’d first seen him naked.  Now it was just a part of him, somehow, and it simply didn’t bother her anymore.

 

“Don’t worry,” he said huskily, as though reading her mind, “when I’m finished percolating in this damnable skin treatment, I shall be more than glad to return the favor, and I’m not referring to lubing you as part of a sinister plot to turn you into a miniature Greasy Git.”

 

Hermione forced out a laugh as a stab of pleasure went through her and the urge to ditch her clothing grew more difficult to control.  She desperately wanted to tell him, but she’d promised him that the treatment was supposed to come before her...desire.

 

“Is that so?” was all she could manage to choke out.

 

“I could claim your lips,” he purred, “then...lower…”

 

Hermione covered her mouth when she realized that the moan in her head had escaped her lips.

 

“No!” she squeaked, “I didn’t...you weren’t...”

 

“What? Supposed to hear that?” he said silkily, “but it’s such a beautiful sound, Hermione.  I want to hear it...again and again until your voice cannot take it any longer.  Do you  _ understand how much control it takes not to simply leap up off of this table and take you right now _ ?”

 

Another moan escaped Hermione’s lips, and she could feel her fingers absently fumbling with the clasp at her neck.

“When I am whole again, I promise to do only what you wish, but I promise that I shall do those thing in ways that will make you sing with pleasure.”

 

“I should be fine like this,” Hermione said, her mind already creating rationalizations for having dropped her robes to the floor, leaving her in a camisole and a pair of black panties, “This way I won’t get any salve on my clothing.  After all, it might stain.”

 

“And we wouldn’t want  _ that _ , would we?”

 

She shivered at the sound of his voice.  It nearly affected her like a physical touch, and she shuddered as prickles of heady sensation ran through her body.

 

Almost as though she were in a trance, Hermione approached the table, looking down at him with her eyes full of lust.

 

“Tell me, what  _ exactly _ are you planning to do with me?” she asked breathlessly.

 

He told her, and she was lost.

 

She almost didn’t taste the slight aftertaste of the horrible potion when her resolve finally dwindled to nothing, and she kissed him so deeply that she was left gasping. All throughout the following day, it was the most delicious torture to keep herself from doing more.     
  


But a promise was a promise, and she resolved to see it through, especially as she watched the effect of the potion and salve as it worked its magic.

* * *

 

When the final treatment was finally complete, they waited for the salve to cure before she helped him up and into the shower.  Hermione had always been self-conscious about her body, but walking around in her underthings for over a day and a half had become almost second-nature, and she realized that, though she still felt a swirling sense of anticipation in the pit of her belly, she simply wasn’t afraid of him seeing her as she was any longer.

 

“Or vice versa,” she mused to herself as she thought of how many rather long looks she’d taken of his various...assets...once the embarrassment had worn off.

 

She only hoped that, when he’d finally recovered, they could somehow confirm that the treatment had been a success.

 

“Stay, with me, please,” he rasped, his body hunched over and pressing his weight against the tile wall.  Whatever the treatments were supposed to be doing to his body had taken their toll, and it seemed that any physical activity had become rather taxing. It was not the sexy fantasy that had appeared, unbidden, in her mind the moment that he'd asked her to stay by his side under the hot streaming water, but as their bodies grew slick with soap suds and hot water, Hermione found that there was much to be said about the comfort of having someone to wash her back gently, his soft kisses trailing down her neck after the soap had been washed away. 

 

The cumulative effect of her efforts over the past few days and the shower seemed to suddenly leave her arms and hands aching and tired. Both of them had barely enough time to dry off and collapse into bed before sleep claimed them both. 

* * *

 

Hermione woke in her bed alone. Her eyes snapped open and she immediately reached for her wand. She ripped back the covers and sprang to her feet, realizing belatedly that she was completely naked. Running her fingers through her bushy snarls, she realized her hair was still damp, her sleep choked mind still desperately trying to catch up with her body. 

 

_ Severus. Where is he? _

 

She threw her robes on over her head, not bothering to put anything else on. 

 

She checked in the bathroom but it was empty. Her heart began to pulse with anxiety as she checked the upstairs rooms and found nothing. He was not in the library or the downstairs bathroom, either. In a panic, now, she burst into his room, half expecting the door to be locked. 

 

It wasn't. 

 

The bed was neatly made and any trace of him had vanished. Even Hermione's cauldrons and assorted supplies were cleaned and neatly placed on the desk. Hermione tore open the door, trying to calm her breathing as unshed tears burned her eyes, forcing her to blink rapidly. 

 

Running towards the last room she could think of, she tried to quiet the thoughts in her head that told her that he had only stayed because he had to, not because he wanted to be there.  That the things he’d told her during the treatments had simply been lies and subterfuge to gain her compliance.  That perhaps, he was laughing at her ugly, awkward body, even though his physical response had seemed to make that a non issue at the time.

 

She skidded to a halt at the doorway to the kitchen.  A dark figure was standing at the sink washing dishes.

 

“Severus!” she exclaimed, panting with relief.

 

He turned and looked at her, his eyes growing soft for a moment before they tightened again.

  
“Hermione,” he said flatly, “I...did not intend to wake you.”

 

“What do you mean?” She looked down at the meager bag by his feet. “Where are you going?”

 

“You have helped me immeasurably, Hermione,” he replied, clasping his hands together, “but I know that your intention was not to make this arrangement permanent.  I have done the diagnostic checks.  My body has been purged of the Mark’s residual dark energy.  The treatment has worked.  Now that I am well and have a wand, I can safely leave you in peace.”

 

“I’m glad that the treatment worked, Severus!” Hermione blurted out, wringing her hands together, “However, you shouldn’t feel like that means you have to go! You’re welcome to—”

 

Severus held out his hand. “Hermione, I have already been a burden.  I have forced you to see me in...a disgraceful position. I am sure that my mutterings under the influence of the potion were both embarrassing and humiliating for you to endure.  I have imposed upon and harmed your lifestyle enough, and while I do not rightly know if I can ever repay you, but I will surely try to do so.”

 

“But...but...you’re not!” Hermione replied, tears causing her vision to swim before her. “Maybe you didn’t mean what you said while I was helping you with the salve, but I would still...I would still like you to stay!  Even if it means that you...that I….that we...that things don’t work out in that way...I still want…”

 

He looked at her, his expression unreadable as she blinked away the tears and wiped her face on her sleeve unceremoniously, but as her vision cleared, she could see how tightly he had gripped the dish rag in his hands.

 

“What do you want, Hermione?”  His voice was cautious, the words spoken slowly, as though he was afraid his words would be misheard.

 

“I don’t know!” Hermione said, “I woke up without you by my side and I was beside myself with terror.  I thought you were hurt or that you’d already left, and I couldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye and...it  _ killed _ me to think that I matter so little to you!”

 

“You think that you do not matter?” Severus said, his voice growing soft as he stepped toward her, his hands still wringing the cloth tightly, “How could you ever think such a thing?”

 

“BECAUSE YOU BLOODY TRIED TO LEAVE WITHOUT WAKING ME UP!” Hermione shouted, her eyes filling with tears until her vision was blurry again.

 

“I...did not realize—”

 

“I LOVE YOU, YOU DUNDERHEAD!”

 

Hermione threw her hands to her mouth to stop the words, but they had already escaped.  They seemed to hang in the room between them for a long moment.

 

And then, suddenly, he’d closed the distance between the two of them and his arms were wrapped tightly around her.

 

“I could not begin to hope that such a thing could be true,” he muttered, his voice growing husky and soft as he held her against his chest.  She could hear his heart hammering away, the frantic beat mirrored only by the cadence of her own heart.

 

“You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do,” Hermione whispered tearfully, sniffing loudly, “For awhile there, though, I thought that maybe, I’d simply taken advantage of you while you were dealing with the effects of the treatment.  The thought horrified me, to be honest.”

 

“And I thought that perhaps I’d said something inordinately embarrassing, that I had overstepped my bounds,” Severus replied, pulling back to look her in the eyes, “I was certain that you’d wake to find me in your bed and kick me out on my arse, complete with a string of unrepeatable curses.”

 

“If it had been anyone else,” Hermione said softly, drawing up on her toes until her lips were almost touching his, “you would be one hundred percent correct.”

 

“But...because I am me…?” Severus trailed off, looking somewhat flustered.

 

“Because you are  _ you _ , I cannot bear to think of anywhere else I would like you to be...I mean, if that’s amenable to you!” Hermione flushed as the embarrassing words poured from her lips, but she  _ had _ to tell him. If he was going to leave because he thought she didn’t care, then he  _ had _ to know.

 

Severus paused, his breathing growing shallow for a moment as he looked deeply into her eyes before he seemed to finally recover.

 

“ _ This _ is most amenable, Hermione, thank you,” he whispered, centimeters from her mouth, before they both seemed to have the same idea and closed the distance, their lips pressing together firmly in the too-bright light of Hermione’s kitchen.

 

In the days and weeks to come, there were many evenings of frenzied pleasure and many afternoons filled with cuddling and fierce debate. While Hermione hadn’t been certain that cuddling while arguing were compatible activities before she’d tried it, she found afterwards that one of the best ways not to lose one’s head was through physical contact.  As long as Severus kept his fingers entwined with hers, they never raised their voices too loudly or resulted to ad-hom attacks in their respective desires to win the argument.  It took many months before the two felt secure enough to announce their relationship to others, but in time, after everyone’s jaws had been picked up off of the floor, it became a simple fact that if one invited Hermione to an event, Severus would come with her.

 

For many years to come, Hermione would wake in the morning, her fingers seeking his and finding them in moments.  For as long as they were together, they knew that they had found true happiness in the all-encompassing warmth of their love for one another.


End file.
